‘Afterworlds,’ by Scott Westerfeld

When you purchase an independently reviewed book through our site, we earn an affiliate commission.

By Stephanie Zacharek

Nov. 7, 2014

Scott Westerfeld’s semi-supernatural novel “Afterworlds” beckons us into a universe where dutiful drones, pale from sun deprivation, spend long, lonely days toiling at an irksome task in order to prove their worth. The challenges they face are many, and their chances of survival, let alone success, are low. Though these worker bees occasionally bond with others of their ilk, they’re really on their own, forever outrunning the authority figures who regularly swoop down to assess their accomplishments and mete out punishment accordingly. The stakes are high: If the denizens of this universe fail, they’ll be dropped into the black hole of obscurity where, unless they can claw their way out, they’ll languish forever.

They may also be forced to give back their advance money.

With “Afterworlds,” Westerfeld — perhaps best known as the author of the Uglies series — has fashioned a narrative from two fantastical stories, cleverly entwined: The heroine of one is Lizzie, a high schooler who survives an airport terrorist attack by willing herself into a misty grayish place known as the afterworld. There she meets the Hindu god of death, Yamaraj, who, in this particular invented mythology, is a charismatic swain in a rippling silk shirt. The star of the novel’s other story is Darcy Patel, a precocious 18-year-old who, against all odds, has written — and sold! — a young adult novel of her own, called “Afterworlds.” Lizzie is, in fiction writers’ parlance, Darcy’s “protag.” But Darcy is the protag of her own story, one in which she defers college and leaves her home in Philadelphia to move to New York. There, she’ll revise her book for publication and get cracking on a sequel. And she’ll fall in love for the first time, with fellow Y.A. novelist Imogen. The two settle into Darcy’s airy (and way too expensive) Chinatown apartment, working on rewrites by day, sampling the city’s magical selection of noodle shops by night.

“Afterworlds” is essentially two fantasy novels in one, even though one takes place in the very real world of New York publishing. Westerfeld is skillful at box-of-mirrors construction techniques. As he details Darcy’s struggle to write “Afterworlds,” the finished book takes shape before our eyes in alternating chapters. But before long, a problem seeps through the cracks of that structure: The otherworldly story Darcy has invented for Lizzie isn’t nearly as compelling as Darcy’s real-world one, and it accounts for half the book. Lizzie’s love affair with Yamaraj is satisfying enough, and the descriptions of the couple’s supernaturally “shiny” skin is as lovely a metaphor as any for the glow of young love. But other plot elements feel strained, like Lizzie’s friendship with an 11-year-old ghost named Mindy, and her zeal to punish the man who murdered the girl, who is clearly a child molester, though that’s never spelled out; he’s referred to as a “bad man.” It comes off as a jarring attempt at grisliness while maintaining a safe, PG-rated distance from it.

Luckily, the Darcy chapters crack along dexterously. She’s an enormously appealing character: The daughter of Indian immigrants, she appreciates their protectiveness but is understandably thrilled to be striking out on her own. With her work ethic, her innocence and her smarts, she’s like a cross between Mary Richards of “The Mary Tyler Moore Show” and Carrie Bradshaw of “Sex and the City” (only with less casual sex).

In detailing Darcy’s day-to-day routine and her bouts of insecurity, Westerfeld offers a realistic glimpse — for my money, at least — into the world of writing for a living. Darcy sweats over looming deadlines. She worries that readers may be offended that she’s used a Hindu god “for purposes of Y.A. hotness.” She fears that her first book will tank — or that it will succeed and then she won’t be able to produce another. She gleans useful advice from colleagues, words of wisdom that older, real-life writers should heed. Imogen tells her she’s “got the juice” as a storyteller: “Beautiful sentences are fine, but the juice is what makes me turn pages.”

“Afterworlds” is a wonderful book for any young person with an interest in growing up to be a writer. Its tone is somewhere between “Writing is harder work than you think” and “Shoot for the stars!” And there’s a sly joke embedded in its dovetailing stories: The chances of getting a huge advance for a Y.A. novel are slim. Still, they’re much greater than the likelihood of meeting a sexy teenage death god after nearly being killed by terrorists.